


so baby, have you heard my single?

by andcntes



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Ambiguous/Open Ending, First Meetings, M/M, Meet-Cute, Oblivious Park Chanyeol, this is a terrible summary
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-09 20:29:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19483420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andcntes/pseuds/andcntes
Summary: yifan’s eyebrows knit together and chanyeol knows he does not sound like the most sane person right now but damnit, he moved across the country for college and the one thing he’s counted on since freshman year was the steadfast nature of his favourite bubble tea shop.or the one where chanyeol just wants his bubble tea and ends up getting more than he could have ever bargained for.





	so baby, have you heard my single?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kyuthighs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kyuthighs/gifts).



the first thing chanyeol notices as they step into black pearl, after the midterm break — or rather, reading week — is the change in lighting. he remembers brighter lights, fluorescent white which blinded him just enough to keep him awake as he got his sugar fix for the day. yes, for the day. these lights are different, little twinkling fairy lights strung against the windows and the counter, flickering battery operated candles at the tables for those who would rather drink their bubble tea in one sitting, stabbing at tapioca pearls with leisure. 

behind him, yifan continues to speak, running his fingers through his hair. “so? what do i tell moms?” 

chanyeol starts, turning to look at his friend. how the topic shifted to yifan’s moms he has no idea, so he goes with the safe choice. “yes...?”

wrong answer, if the furrow between yifan’s brows is anything to go by. “you want to come to dinner at my moms? i thought your family had plans.”

ah, chanyeol gets it now. he frowns “do the lights look different to you?” 

“what?”

“the lights, yifan!” chanyeol waves his hands with mustered enthusiasm, wild in their gesticulation. his mother had once nicknamed him hurricane, apt considering as a child he’d leave a destruction of toys and clothing in his wake. 

“they look fine,” yifan’s voice is distracted as he takes in their surroundings, and chanyeol’s shoulders slouch at the lack of reaction he receives. he and yifan have been coming to black pearl for their bubble tea since they were nervous first years, trying to find a common spot on campus to meet and discuss their project for the classic studies elective they shared. 

he thought it meant something to yifan too, and not just chanyeol but the lukewarm response says otherwise. maybe he should— oh, yifan is still talking.

“—are you okay, chanyeol? you seem...” 

“cool?”

a snort. “i was going for disturbed. you’ve got that look in your eyes, you know— that one.”

chanyeol does know and he does not appreciate the emphasis yifan places on his words. what had happened at the halloween party at the frats was a one time thing — too much pre gaming, a low tolerance for jägerbombs, coupled with his general lack of coordinated limbs and a giant cape — and would not be repeated. “i can’t believe you’d bring that up!”

“you’ve got the bug eyes chanyeol! i’m just covering all my bases so i don’t end up like junmyeon.”

“i apologized!”

“i had to cut my night short and drag junmyeon, bleeding nose and all back to rez! what’s with the bug eyes, park?”

“do you really not notice anything different? we’ve been coming here three years now yifan.” chanyeol’s tone takes on a petulant whine, and if he were in their apartment and not in public — standing behind a very long line of first and second years, tittering to their friends about professor so and so, or failed midterms, or where they want to party this weekend — he would have stomped his feet too.

“i don’t know?” yifan’s tone borders on incredulity and his face contorts into a different expression; one which chanyeol remembers as his thinking expression. 

good, maybe he’ll finally figure it out.

“did it get more expensive?”

a sigh. he should have known better than to trust yifan when he’s thinking. his statement however forces chanyeol to pivot on his heel and face the front once again. he squints, cursing the itch in his eyes — he shouldn’t have put off that eye surgery, or placed his glasses right where he could sit on them — from straining his contacts. “fucking headass, it did!” 

the best part, chanyeol believes, of black pearl has always been its affordable prices. as a college freshman, it had been what attracted chanyeol to it in the first place. sure, his student card had enough meal dollars to last him the whole year at rez dining but chanyeol could only take so many weeks of bland pasta, three quarters cooked beef stroganoff and grilled cheese. every other haunt on campus where older students flocked to had been too expensive on chanyeol’s delicate wallet. not black pearl, especially not when he became a regular — or when their friends began working part time and snuck him extra tapoica pearls or sugar at regular prices — it had always been steadfast.

“it’s just bubble tea chanyeol.”

belatedly, chanyeol realizes he’s been muttering to himself; loud enough for yifan to hear. still, he sniffs and turns up his nose. “you’re only saying that because you’ve never loved a thing in your life.”

“you take one creative writing class and now you think you’re what? danielle steele?”

a cough from behind them and chanyeol realizes there’s a gap of approximately ten steps between the girls in front of them and chanyeol plus yifan. he nudges yifan, albeit a little too hard, and watches as his best friend catches himself in time before he could bump into the freshmen.

good. he’d hate to be kicked out because of yifan’s clumsy limbs. 

“you ass. the fuck was that for?”

“the line moved.”

“so?” yifan’s smooth forehead furrows with wrinkles and chanyeol smothers the urge to tell him he looks ugly. “couldn’t you just tell me? you know, like a normal person.”

chanyeol decides not to deign him with a response. not even a _you’ve known me for three years now, since when have we qualified as normal people?_ he hopes the look he gives will suffice instead. 

it does. yifan’s attention is captured by the music playing through the speakers. he nods his head along to a peppy beat, mouth forming lyrics and chanyeol knows his hands hidden in the large coat he wears must be mimicking drumsticks. he drags his attention away from the twinkling fairy lights — like a girl’s bedroom on pinterest, or sasha’s dorm in second year back when they’d been hooking up — chanyeol sneers, lip curled in disgust, and towards the lyrics. 

it’s not the usual assortment of korean pop, the bubblegum synth chanyeol is used to; the peppy soundtrack of girls generation telling him they’ve got a boy, a _handsome_ boy. disdain crawls up his throat and he clears his throat, prepared to launch into a tirade about establishment and how capitalism is devil spawn taking over the authenticity of small mom and pop shops. what comes out instead is “they even changed the music!”

“what?”

“everything’s wrong and nothing’s the same, yifan!”

yifan’s eyebrows knit together and chanyeol knows he does not sound like the most _sane_ person right now but damnit, he moved across the country for college and the one thing he’s counted on since freshman year was the steadfast nature of his favourite bubble tea shop. 

“kris!”

the loud exclamation breaks both chanyeol and yifan out of the staring contest they’ve locked themselves in. it couldn’t have come at a better time; chanyeol was about to lose anyway. their heads turn towards the cashier and chanyeol watches as yifan breaks into a wide smile, gums peeking out at the sight of a mushroom headed, blonde boy. 

wait a minute, he knows this one. 

a quick glance at his name tag and chanyeol’s own lips curve upwards in mischief. “sehun,” he greets, proper and charming. the kind of charming which landed him a first, second _and_ third date with the pretty sorority girl in his theology lecture. 

“chanyeol,” sehun nods and reaches for a plastic cup, sharpie poised to scribble shorthand for an order, “the usual?”

the usual consists of honeydew tea, with extra sugar and extra pearls, or as yifan likes to call it — the sugar monster. chanyeol thinks yifan has no idea how to have fun, especially since yifan’s regular order is thai milk tea — _fifty percent less_ sugar, and no tapioca pearls! — like he’s some health conscious person. he knows for a fact yifan is not, considering the latter had wolfed down two packets of chips, a package of instant ramen, _and_ four slices of pizza in the span of three hours. 

he watches with narrowed eyes as yifan avoids sehun’s gaze, or how the tips of sehun’s ears are starting to flush a soft pink. “you can call him yifan you know,” chanyeol says, wanting to break the tension as he pulls out his wallet, tangled earphones falling to the ground as does five dollars worth of change. 

a sigh of consternation from yifan and chanyeol glances up from where he’s crouched over his spilled belongings, scooping them up, before settling on a glare.

“he only said to call him kris because he wanted to impress you.”

yifan squawks.

sehun flushes an even prettier shade of dusty rose. 

chanyeol beams.

he doesn’t notice how there is an uproar behind him, doesn’t even hear the soft chime of the bell alerting a new customer. he certainly does _not_ hear the soft exclamations which range from, _oh my god i’m a huge fan_ to _will you please sign my cup?_

how can he, when he’s just bit into the soft underbelly of his best friend nursing a crush on a boy they shared a class with last semester; come to think of it, chanyeol has seen sehun hanging around junmyeon often. “so, how did this happen?”

both boys ignore him.

sehun busies himself with the till, pressing cash into chanyeol’s hand along with a receipt. “you’re holding up the line, _hyung_ ” is all sehun says and chanyeol’s eyebrows furrow, frown marring his eyebrows as he steps away to go wait for his order.

“did i leave my jacket at yours?” he hears yifan say, and freezes in position. there is a glow on chanyeol’s features, a glimmer in his eyes as he connects the dots. 

“you can come get it after my shift, i—“

“when does it end?”

“three hours.”

“i’ll wait.”

and chanyeol realizes this is more than a crush, yifan is _in love_ with sehun. sehun is too, chanyeol thinks, even if he doesn’t know it himself. chanyeol sees it in the way he glances to yifan when yifan isn’t looking, the way he bites his lower lip like there’s something he wishes to say; something he never says. 

chanyeol thinks he might boil to death under all this sexual tension.

he watches as yifan goes to order, only to be interrupted by sehun who hands him a cup, curated with yifan’s usual order. “on the house,” sehun says.

before yifan does something stupid, like embarrass himself, chanyeol steps in. “hey, how come i don’t get a free drink? i’m much more handsome than yifan is.”

chanyeol definitely does not hear the chatter behind them get louder, or the hushed _i’m such a big fan!_ or the _i’ve been following you since your first cover!_ perhaps if he had, he would not be so preoccupied with his best friend’s love life — a brief respite from the complaints of how his favourite drinks joint has been defiled by the capitalist monster. 

“you even changed the cups?” his voice raises in pitch, taking on a tone of incredulity, eyebrows pressing closer to his hairline, lips drawn forth into a pout. he starts his walk, yifan following after as he complains about how they’ve made the cups wider but shorter, and how is he supposed to get his sugar fix now? 

"chanyeol—“

“no! yifan seriously, look at these cups! they even added a fucking _logo_! what is this stupid pirate’s hat? i don’t like—“

“chanyeol—“

chanyeol stabs at the cup with his straw, vengeance set heavy in his gaze as his knuckles whiten. “i swear they made the plastic coverlet harder too! what’s this shit made of? pvc piping? man, i swear next time we should just go to cha time. there's no difference between black pearl and cha time now.” 

the sigh rises in chanyeol’s chest, not unlike hot air on an even hotter day. it settles in his throat and he growls, attempting to puncture the cup once more. his name is scribbled perfectly against the plastic — sehun’s penmanship, chanyeol notes, is perhaps the only thing which remains the same. “fucking straw,” he mutters under his breath. “why won’t you just—“

“chanyeol—“

too late.

he crashes, stumbling feet first, tripping on _air_ in typical giraffe fashion — a nickname junmyeon had fashioned for him in freshman year. it was after an all-nighter and chanyeol had tripped up the stairs, spilling the overpriced kombucha he’d weaseled yifan into buying for him — and the hole he’s made in his tea sets him up for disaster.

there is a man — a short man, chanyeol notes — whose shirt is now _drenched_ in the eight dollars chanyeol spent on his tea. whatever’s left in the cup drips off his frame and gathers in a puddle by his feet. an apology crawls up chanyeol’s throat, and he glances first at yifan. he’s not a coward, he absolutely is _not_ avoiding looking his victim in the eye in fear of punishment. no, why would he do that?

“shit, i’m _so_ sorry.” 

he glances up at the man dabbing at his shirt with manicured fingers, and feels all further apology die in his throat. that’s— shit, that’s— holy _shit,_ that’s chen. of all the people to spill honeydew tea on, chanyeol had to go and do it on the man he’s admired for years now, the man whose career he’s followed since high school; back when chen was a simple youtuber and chanyeol, just a teenager looking for his voice.

“that’s what i was trying to tell you,” comes yifan's helpful whisper.

“you just called my name! couldn't you have— _i don’t know—_ said, ‘hey chanyeol your teen idol is literally five steps away from you, try not to embarrass yourself.’”

the hiss, meant to intimidate, only makes yifan snicker. “that’s a tall order, chanyeol park.”

chanyeol doesn’t deign this with a response, instead looks back to his vic— _chen,_ with apology painted on his lips, in their downward pout; in his eyes and the way they widen, taking an even larger shape than usual. “chen, i mean— mr.chen! wait! fuck, i mean sir! i’m so sorry about—“ chanyeol gesticulates to the mess he’s made of the man's shirt, too caught up in his apology to note the way humour colours the crinkles around the other man's eyes, “—that, and i will _definitely_ pay the costs of cleaning it.” he pauses, thinking this over. “ _or_ buy you a new one! if that’s what you prefer.”

there’s a snicker in the distance, and chanyeol has heard yifan laugh enough to know that it does not belong to his best friend.

“baekhyun,” chen hushes.

there, standing behind chanyeol’s idol is an imp. messy blonde locks which fall into his eyes, a shirt that is two sizes too large and a smile plastered to his features. 

chanyeol is wary. 

“jongdae, he couldn’t afford the shirt _or_ it’s dry cleaning.”

chanyeol bristles.

… but wait a minute, _who_ is jongdae? 

“—while nice of you, i don’t think that’s necessary.

oh shit, was chen… jongdae… whoever talking to him? chanyeol blinks, pulling himself back to reality. he cocks his head to the side, raising an eyebrow. “sorry?”

“i was just saying it’s not necessary, i was looking for a new scent anyway. i guess honeydew _isn’t_ a go.”

“no, not unless you want to be a bee magnet.”

this earns a laugh from chen, and chanyeol’s chest warms. he feels accomplished.

“i’m jongdae.”

_i know,_ chanyeol thinks. “i’m chanyeol,” is what he says, extending a hand forward.

jongdae’s hand slips into chanyeol’s, and there are fireworks. not run of the mill fireworks, like the ones chanyeol and his friends used stole the last summer before college and snuck off to the beach to light them. he has nothing against bottle rockets, but the fireworks he feels at jongdae’s touch are _different._ he’s talking independence day celebrations by the bay, lighting up the night sky. 

as a child, chanyeol had been fascinated by fireworks: _dad, can you see the fireworks from space?_ his father had laughed, told him that they weren’t that powerful. these fireworks however, with jongdae’s hand slotting into his, palms pressed together, chanyeol thinks even NASA would be able to document it.

“jongdae,” baekhyun warns.

chanyeol’s nose wrinkles. this little imp — _baekhyun,_ his conscience supplies — is really starting to get on his nerves. can’t he see they’re having a moment? great, now chanyeol sounds exactly like max when he was breaking up with him: ‘ _the spark just isn’t there chanyeol!’_

“you wanted to be normal baekhyun, i’m being normal,” jongdae retorts, his hand still warm in chanyeol’s grasp — not that chanyeol noticed.

he wants to say something; something along the lines of ‘oh my god i’ve followed you since your first cover in your bedroom of jason mraz. i was in high school then, you’re the reason i became interested in music. you inspire me. wow, you’re even more handsome in person.’ instead of all this however, what actually falls from chanyeol’s mouth sounds a lot more like “hawoahwesa?”

jongdae stares at him like he's grown a set of horns.

yifan steps in, “he’s remixed some of your original tracks on soundcloud. he’s a really big fan.”

the look on jongdae’s face blossoms, and chanyeol’s chest does a weird triple kick; it beats on a rhythm he does not remember, despite the six months he took drum lessons. there’s a cacophony of noise echoing in chanyeol’s ear and belatedly, he realizes they’re still shaking hands. is this normal? do people shake hands for so long? are they just holding hands?

chanyeol drops his hand, steps back. the tea he spilled canvases a puddle between himself and jongdae; it’s only a splash, but to chanyeol it feels like an ocean.

“ah, really? that’s so cool. what's your account?”

baekhyun makes a fussy noise behind jongdae, but chanyeol couldn’t care less. jongdae is talking to him, to _him._

“it’s loey, the _o_ is a zero,” he manages to get through the sentence without stuttering; chanyeol can't see yifan, too enamoured with jongdae, but he likes to think his best friend would be proud.

his hand feels clammy, warm despite the air conditioning. silence permeates the air, and chanyeol can once again hear the chatter of campus undulating through the shop. _say something,_ he thinks to himself. 

“i’ll give it a listen.”

he feels as if he’s being dismissed; chanyeol nods, tries for a smile. what was he expecting? a date? not after the bubble tea he spilled all over jongdae; chanyeol had kissed all his chances of a date goodbye with that mishap. maybe he’ll get yifan to hand over his tea; especially if he pulls the puppy eyes.

chanyeol turns to leave.

“hey!”

he pivots, eyes widening, heart hammering in his chest. 

“can i get your number, loey with a zero?”

**Author's Note:**

> does this count as crack? i'm not sure! i hope you enjoyed ≧◡≦
> 
> come talk to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/toughyifan) about the exos!


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